The redemption of Lucius Malfoy
by Fragilereality
Summary: Divorced by his wife, abandoned by his son, stripped of his wand, deprived of his house elves and forced to complete 6000 hours of community service Lucius Malfoy has hit rock bottom. Surely things can't get any worse...


**A/N**

 **Written for Round 5 of the QLFC**

 **Team: Pride of Portree**

 **Position: Chaser one**

 **Captain Prompt: Lupine, write about a character demonstrating resilience after a personal trauma or tragedy (for example ill health, a death etc)**

 **Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2974**

 **Prompts: thorn, influence, "Never use my name and his in the same sentence. Ever."**

 **Thank you so much to Oni and Jessica for all your work with reading and editing this.**

* * *

The Redemption of Lucius Malfoy

"Lucius Malfoy, you stand before the Wizengamot charged with: forty-seven counts of sedition, criminal damage, jailbreaking, bankrolling an illegal operation and cruelty to house elves, how do you plead?"

Lucius couldn't resist a long glance at his lawyer. The old man was staring at him, a hint of steel in his watery blue eyes. He had been very firm with his client regarding the expected response to this question. Lucius sighed; it was not the Malfoy way to admit culpability, even when, as in this case, the proof was irrefutable.

"Guilty." He imbued the word with as much pride as he could muster.

Fourteen hours later he was struggling to keep the cool, confident façade for which he was so well known. His was one of the final Death Eater trials; he had seen many of his compatriots sentenced to decades in Azkaban. Despite the testimony of Potter and Granger, which had been surprisingly benign, and his own willingness to testify against anyone and everyone he had ever met, he could not see himself evading a second term of incarceration. He gripped the lectern in front of him to prevent his hands from shaking. He badly needed a drink.

"Probation!"

He barely heard anything the presiding witch said after that. He almost wept with relief that he would not be sent back to Azkaban.

It was only after he left the courtroom that he began to wonder about the terms of his probation.

"Your wand will be confiscated and held by the Ministry for the next five years. You shall not leave the country. You shall not have access to your house elves - they will be temporarily re-homed for the duration of your sentence. You shall complete six thousand hours of community service, under the supervision of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Any deviation from the terms of your probation will result in immediate internment at Azkaban for the remainder of your probationary period. It seems clear enough." The solicitor laid down the scroll from which he was reading and eyed Lucius speculatively. "Considering the circumstances, I think you got off very lightly."

Lucius interpreted _that_ to mean "considering you are guilty as sin." He took a long drink from the goblet of wine he had poured himself immediately on flooing back to the manor. The house was cold and empty. Narcissa had started divorce proceedings the day after the Battle of Hogwarts and Draco had never come home. "I need time," he'd said and Lucius, cocooned in a protective bubble of habitual drunkenness, had been more than happy to allow him that. Now, he felt the loss of his son acutely.

"How exactly am I supposed to live?" He tried unsuccessfully to keep the tremor from his voice. "Without my wand, without my elves, without my _family_?" He clenched his jaw and deliberately avoided the sympathetic gaze of his solicitor.

"It shouldn't be too difficult." The old man shrugged his shoulders. "Muggles and Squibs seem to get along just fine."

Lucius glared at him. "Might I remind you that I am neither a Muggle, nor a Squib!"

"Of course," the solicitor sighed. "Those were merely examples. You must realise, Mr Malfoy, that this is a great success."

"Not in my eyes." Lucius poured himself another drink. "As far as I'm concerned this is a bloody tragedy."

It seemed even more unfair the following morning. He had never realised before just how much he depended on magic. It had been as instinctive as breathing until it was taken away. Admittedly, he was fairly handy without a wand but, having been solely dependent on house elves for his entire life, he had never learned any domestic spells.

It took him almost an hour to dress. He didn't know where any of his clothes were stored and, even when found, they were almost impossible to get into. Buttons refused to fasten, his cufflinks were impossibly stiff, his shoehorn was missing and without it his boots were unco-operative. Finally, he was utterly defeated by the tying of his cravat. His personal grooming was no easier to cope with; he hadn't shaved himself since he was at school and, without his wand, he couldn't cast a single healing charm to stem the flow of blood from his numerous nicks.

By the time he found his way to the kitchen, he was already late for work. He looked around miserably at the cold, dark room. The pantry shelves were laden with ingredients, but unfortunately he couldn't even begin to imagine how to prepare them. He settled for a couple of slices of dry bread washed down with his habitual morning goblet of wine. He felt a little better with the alcohol coursing through his system and flooed into the Ministry with the cheering thought that at least he would be able to eat lunch in the canteen.

He was shown into the office of his supervisor and almost showed himself straight back out again upon being greeted by an unsmiling Hermione Granger. The girl had been a thorn in Draco's side throughout his entire tenure at Hogwarts and now she seemed set on tormenting Lucius.

"Mr Malfoy, you're late." She didn't stand up.

"I had some… domestic issues." He tossed his hair, aware that it wasn't nearly as perfectly coiffed as usual.

Miss Granger gave a cruel little smile. "You mean you didn't have your elves to wait on you hand and foot? No wonder you look a little rumpled."

Lucius self-consciously smoothed his robes. He had done his best, how dare she point out his deficiencies? It didn't help that she was impeccably dressed, her hair secured in a severe braid at the nape of her neck.

"How may I be of assistance, Miss Granger?" He kept his voice saccharine sweet.

She glared at him. "You can't. I have absolutely no use for you, Mr Malfoy. Kingsley thought I would be a good influence and that exposure to a Muggleborn might help with your rehabilitation. I disagree. I suggest you sit at that desk, read this, and stay quiet." She pointed to a small desk along one wall of the office, upon which sat a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Lucius gazed at her, slack jawed. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this was not it. He had thought there would be some sort of menial task at least, but to completely dismiss him out of hand? It was extremely insulting.

It took him an hour to read _The Prophet_ from cover to cover including the obituaries and the property section, then a further half hour to complete the crossword. After that, he stared into space, wondering how anyone could work in such a chaotic environment. Stacks of parchment haemorrhaged off her desk, covering every available surface. Both filing cabinets hung open, vomiting yet more parchment, scrolls and folders to coalesce with the debris on the floor. Lucius found the disarray most distressing.

At twelve thirty, Miss Granger put down her quill and looked up at him. "You have one hour for lunch." Her voice was completely expressionless. Lucius gratefully made his way down to the Ministry cafeteria where he ordered an enormous portion of the food he once scoffed at. He ate it all and washed it down with a few surreptitious swigs from his hip flask.

The afternoon went much the same as the morning; he re-read The Prophet and mentally composed a letter to the editor regarding the lack of factual detail in the exposé of himself and Narcissa which covered pages seven through twelve.

At four o'clock, he realised the girl was standing over his desk. "You may go home now, Mr Malfoy. I shall expect you at nine sharp tomorrow."

He nodded and stood gratefully.

"Oh, and Mr Malfoy?"

He turned before he reached the doorway; she was standing with her arms folded beneath her chest.

"I have a very sensitive nose; if you come to work smelling of alcohol again then I will be forced to report you to the Minister for breach of your probation."

He bit back a retort, but couldn't resist letting the door slam as he left her office.

The rest of the week followed the same depressing pattern as his first day. He spent his days perusing _The Daily Prophet_ and going gradually out of his mind with boredom. His domestic situation had not improved. He had visited Diagon Alley and purchased cereal, milk, and bread so at least he wasn't starving, but his daily lunch at the Ministry was his only hot meal and he was dreading the weekend when he would have to fend for himself.

His misery was worsened by his abstinence from alcohol. It wasn't just his desire not to go back to Azkaban that kept him away from the bottle. It had been the scorn in Miss Granger's voice as she had spoken to him. She had looked down on him with a dismissive superiority he had found unbearable. He would not allow himself to appear diminished in her eyes, and if that meant abstaining, so be it.

With so little else to do, Lucius took to observing Miss Granger. She worked incredibly hard, rarely leaving her desk, and when she did, it was to attend meetings. She did not eat lunch, which probably accounted for her extreme slenderness, and she appeared to only socialise under duress, with Potter and Weasley, on the days when they suddenly burst into her office and dragged her out for coffee. She returned from these breaks looking refreshed, but immediately began to work even more frantically as if to make up for lost time.

It was at the end of his second week that Lucius, dreading his evening repast of cheese sandwiches, finally plucked up the courage to ask her advice.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up in surprise at his voice.

"I was wondering if you might know how one would go about learning to cook?"

He had expected that she would dismiss him, but instead, she put down her quill and regarded him steadily with her wide brown eyes.

"I suppose children usually learn the basics from their parents, at least in the Muggle world." She pursed her soft lips. "Don't you know anyone who could teach you?"

Lucius shook his head. He felt disappointed, although he really wasn't sure what he had hoped for. "I have very few remaining friends," he admitted, "and I doubt any of them are in possession of that particular talent."

The clock chimed four and he stood and inclined his head. "Goodnight, Miss Granger."

He was surprised to hear her response as he left. "Goodnight, Mr Malfoy."

She wasn't in the office when he arrived the next morning but there was a book on his desk along with _The Prophet_. The cover was battered, dog eared and stained. It was entitled _The Complete Cookery Course_ by Delia Smith.

By week four, Lucius' boredom had reached a new peak and he was forced to act. He began, very surreptitiously, to tidy Miss Granger's office. Every time she left the room he became a whirlwind of activity. He started with the filing cabinets, sorting and alphabetising the trailing bits of parchment. Gradually, his sphere of influence broadened until even Miss Granger couldn't fail to notice that the path to her desk was no longer paved with discarded memos. On the Monday of week six, Lucius' dogged perseverance was rewarded and he found another book on his desk entitled _Gordon Ramsay's Passion for Flavour._

As autumn turned to winter, Lucius observed that Miss Granger never ate. Her figure, admirably trim in September, was concerningly gaunt by November. Lucius was ready to forgo the Ministry canteen by this point and so, feeling daunted, he packaged up the leftovers from the previous night's dinner and, at twelve thirty precisely, placed a tin on her desk before settling down to eat his own lunch.

At first she ignored his offering, continuing to scribble frantically on the parchment in front of her, but as the smell of chicken curry began to permeate the room, she cautiously reached out and opened the box. He smirked as she began to eat, pausing only to cast a warming charm over the food. Lucius was surprised when she flicked her wand in his direction and his own previously cold food began to steam gently.

By the end of November, Lucius faced another problem. His wardrobe was extensive, not inexhaustible, and he was running out of clothes. His attempts at handwashing had not been particularly successful and even the clothes he had managed to clean were now creased and stiff. Girding his loins, he placed the remainder of his roast dinner onto Miss Granger's desk like a sacrificial offering and hovered over her.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" She looked up, her expressive brown eyes considerably softer than they had been three months previously.

"I wonder, Miss Granger, if you could tell me how Muggles wash their clothes?"

Her gaze flicked over his body and he forced himself to stand proudly under her scrutiny. He was reasonably well presented after having remastered the art of shaving, hair care, and cravat tying but he was not the pristine figure he had once been.

"They use an electric device called a washing machine." She tapped her lips speculatively. "Arthur Weasley has adapted one to function in a magical home. I'm sure if you spoke to him…"

"Never use my name and his in the same sentence," he snapped. "Ever." He returned to his desk and to his own food, which he noticed Miss Granger had already re-heated.

Two days later he sought out Arthur Weasley and, after a surprisingly well received apology, convinced the congenial wizard to assist him with fitting a washing machine at the manor.

One the twenty-second of December, the last day the Ministry would be open before the Christmas break, Lucius rose at precisely seven A.M. He quickly showered, shaved himself without incident, and cast a wandless drying charm on his hair. Dressed only in his underpants, he padded down to the kitchen and boiled water for his morning tea, whilst scrambling eggs and making toast on the old fashioned range. He briefly perused his correspondence whilst eating his breakfast, then placed the dishes to soak before making his way to the adjacent laundry room. There, he whistled tunelessly whilst he ironed a fresh shirt (Arthur had arrived with the iron a few days ago and Lucius was most pleased with the device). Upstairs once more, he dressed quickly, expertly tying his cravat and fastening his buttons with a wandless charm.

He flooed into the Ministry but, instead of heading directly to the lifts, he left the building and made his way to the Starbucks two streets away. The barista greeted him with a cheery smile and set to preparing his order without being asked. Lucius handed over his Muggle money and selected a packet of the caramel waffles he knew Miss Granger particularly enjoyed. When he collected his order, he noticed that, along with his name, the barista had scribbled a series of digits on his cup.

Back at the Ministry, he placed one of the steaming cups, along with a waffle, at Miss Granger's elbow. She smiled up at him gratefully.

Forty minutes later, she was swearing and destroying the carefully arranged order of the filing cabinets. Lucius looked up from _The Prophet_. "If you are looking for the dossier for your meeting with the Goblin regulation committee, I placed it on your desk yesterday evening." He gestured toward the manila folder which had sat in front of her all morning.

"Thank you." She picked it up and gave him a sheepish smile.

"On your return, there are papers to sign relating to the werewolves rights bill; we should owl them out before close of business today."

She gave him a harried look. "Fine, just put them on my desk." She swept out of the room in a whirlwind of curls. Lucius smiled faintly and went back to his newspaper.

"What _are_ you doing?" She paused in the doorway of her office, taking in the crisply ironed red tablecloth spread over her desk, along with the sparkling goblets (which contained pumpkin juice) and the fine china plates onto which Lucius was serving up their lunch.

"It's Christmas dinner." Lucius avoided her gaze. "There seemed little point in cooking only for myself tomorrow, so I decided to cook for both of us today." He politely pulled out her chair and gave a secret sigh of relief when she sat.

"This is delicious." She beamed at him across the table. Her eyes flicked to the side and her smile faltered a little.

"What's this?" She reached into the wastepaper basket and retrieved his paper cup.

"It's a coffee cup."

"With a phone number on it." She tapped the digits with her small finger.

Lucius frowned, not understanding.

"It means the barista wanted you to ask her out."

Comprehension slowly bloomed. The girl who served him every morning was certainly very friendly, _and_ rather pretty. He took the cup and regarded the digits for several moments, before he dropped it back into the bin.

"Is it because she's a Muggle?" A frown marred her expressive face.

"No." Lucius looked away, feeling his cheeks heat.

Miss Granger took a deep breath. "You know, Mr Malfoy; I don't really have any plans for tomorrow." She looked up at him and then quickly glanced away, her cheeks flaming. "I would be happy to cook with you, if you would like."

He fumbled with his napkin, his heart pounding riotously in his chest. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I should like that, very much."


End file.
